


Orange

by Khylara



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M, Post-Hiatus (Fall Out Boy)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 03:14:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16526270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khylara/pseuds/Khylara
Summary: Dual confessions lead to more when Patrick finally finds out what Pete has been writing about in the orange notebooks he keeps.





	Orange

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: This is technically AU – neither man is married at this point and I have played around with the timeline a bit. I am well aware that it’s off – I did it solely because I think pink-haired Pete is adorable. Just go with it. *crosses fingers*

There are dozens of them in the floor to ceiling monstrosity of a bookcase that takes up an entire wall of Pete Wentz’s bedroom. The last time Pete had sat down long enough to count them all there had been 362 of them and he knows he’s added to the total since then. In the past week alone he’s filled two. They’re all the same cheap spiral bound notebook you can buy anywhere, all with the same color cover and every page in every book has writing on it.

Every single page.

All of the shelves are full to bursting except for the bottom one, but Pete knows it’s only a matter of time before that one is, too. Especially with the way he’s been writing lately. _I should start looking for another one,_ he thought, grimacing as he looked at it from his vantage point on the bed. Furniture shopping wasn’t his idea of fun; he’s hoping one just turns up out of the blue like this one had in a drive by yard sale during his first week in LA.

 _I doubt it. I couldn’t get that lucky twice_ , he thought as he gazed at his notebooks. The ones on the top shelf were old, worn around the edges with yellowing pages and covers threatening to come off. He’s toyed with the idea of scanning them all into his computer more than once, but those thoughts are always followed by what if. What if his laptop crashes and he loses everything? What if the disks he burns become corrupted and unreadable? What if he loses his phone and the person finding it is a total douchebag who sells his most private thoughts to the highest bidder?

That thought alone is enough to send his anxiety skyrocketing into parts unknown.

So he leaves them where they are. Some days he just sits on the floor and stares up at them, marveling at their sheer number. But while he keeps them more or less neat, dust free and in date order, he doesn’t flip through them all that often and in all the years of keeping them they’ve only produced one song. One song cobbled together out of so many thousands of words. He can barely stand to hear Patrick sing it, which of course means it’s one of their most popular and he’s subjected to it practically every night when they’re on tour. Even after all this time, hearing Patrick sing “What A Catch” still puts a lump in his throat.

There was a reason only one song had come out of all those words. There are 13 years of increasingly complicated feelings in all those pages – equal parts love and hate, joy and pain. He’s never been able to sum up all that Patrick is to him in just one word; he needs all of them, all the time and he doesn’t see that stopping anytime soon.

There’s a lot of anger in those pages as well, a lot of ink blotched by tears, too many scribbled over words and phrases. He doesn’t hold anything back in these notebooks like he might In the ones he shows to Patrick and regularly mines for lyrics. These are his confessor, his therapy and his solace all rolled into one.

A part of him wants to share them, wants to let Patrick read his written words and finally know how deep his feelings truly go. An equally big part of Pete wants to hide them away so thoroughly that Patrick never ever finds out the truth he’s shielded behind friendship for so long. He’s too afraid that the singer won’t understand or even be angry at seeing his heart and soul laid bare. It’s either that or pity him for it – Pete doesn’t know which would actually be worse.

So he writes instead, pouring his love onto neatly lined paper, filling page after page of blankness with his scribble. Sometimes it’s just a paragraph or two before he drops off to sleep, his days too full to manage more. Other times he’s scribbling until the wee hours of the morning, trying to capture his thoughts before they drift into the ozone and writing so fast that he can barely read what he wrote after. But it’s rare he misses a day, rare that one goes by and he doesn’t dig out an orange notebook, find a pen and jot down something about his band mate, his best friend.

Even during the hiatus and his brief, disastrous marriage he had filled one notebook after another with a constant stream of words and thoughts and longing. He knows how bad he had it, knows how pathetic and ridiculous it was. It’s to the point where there are three cartons of brand new notebooks tucked away in the back of his bedroom closet. He had special ordered them after during a tour break promoting “Infinity” after having finished one on the way to St Louis and going to five stores looking for a new one. Who knew that orange was such a hard color to find?

 _Which reminds me…I should call him_ , he mused, feeling a little guilty. Granted, it had only been a week since he had seen Patrick last, but considering the state the singer had been in, Pete couldn’t help but wonder how he was.

He was about to pull his phone out when it vibrated against his hip, signaling a call. Drawing it out, he saw who it was and grinned. _Great minds_ , he thought as he clicked it on and held it up to his ear. “Hey, Trick. How are you doing?”

“I’m okay,” Patrick said, hesitating a little. “I’m here at LAX. I just got off the plane.”

“You’re…wait…what?” Pete was suddenly confused. “What in the hell are you doing at LAX?”

“Heading to the terminal to liberate my bag, actually,” Patrick said and Pete could hear the faintest trace of a smile in his voice. “Then it’s off to the car rental counter.”

“Smartass,” Pete said fondly, his heart lifting a little at Patrick’s tone. “You know what I mean.”

“Going to move back out here for a while,” Patrick said. “Open up the Hollywood Hills house, ship some of my things over, that kind of thing.”

“Really?” A grin spread across Pete’s face. “That’s great, man. I’ve missed having you so close by.” An idea suddenly sprang into his head. “After you get your rental come on over here. We’ll order pizza and have a writing session or something.” When his suggestion was met with silence, Pete tried again. “Or if jet lag’s kicking your ass I can call you tomorrow sometime. Up to you.”

“No…a writing session sounds good,” Patrick said. “It’s been a while. I’m surprised that the label hasn’t been on our collective ass about it.” There was a pause. “I didn’t bring my guitar, though. My laptop, yeah. But not my guitar.”

“Piano’s here. And I know I have at least one guitar that’s not a bass for you to borrow if we get that far,” Pete said. “Or we can just sit and watch a movie if you’re not up to working. We can decide when you get here.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Patrick promised. There was a pause. “Pete…thanks.”

“No problem, man. See you when you get here.” He waited for Patrick to click off before hanging up his own phone and shoving it in his back pocket. _Baggage claim and car rental will be at least an hour knowing how crowded LAX is_ , he thought as he headed for the kitchen. _Add in another hour for traffic at the very least. He’s only been here a handful of times. Hopefully he doesn’t get lost._ Opening the fridge, he sighed with relief when he saw not only a case of water, but a six pack of beer and a bottle of wine as well. _That should be good enough. I’ll make coffee and knowing Trick, he’ll want tea._ Closing the fridge door, he gave his bulldog Hemmingway a pat on the head before heading upstairs to take a shower.

                                                                Two Weeks Earlier: Chicago

It was only 8:00, but Pete was more than ready for bed. He had spent the entire day at his parents’ house helping them sort through several spare rooms and a basement full of stuff accumulated over the years and he was bone tired. _Over thirty years in that house_ , Pete thought as he brushed his teeth. _It could’ve been a hell of a lot worse._ Luckily, his mother was meticulous about storing things as she was with everything else, so every box had been neatly labeled with a list of contents and a date. It had made a potentially overwhelming job a little bit easier on everyone.

 _Although God knows why she saved some of the stuff she did_ , he mused as he rinsed and spit. He had found not only various school projects and Halloween costumes, but stage outfits, toys and one of his first bass guitars. There had even been one of his old soccer balls. It had made an impressive pile on the curb for the local veteran’s organization to haul away.

He had kept a good sized box of things to show Bronx and his mom had promised to scan in all the family photos they had found. He could only imagine what his son would think when he saw some of them; he had spent a good part of the afternoon alternating between cringing and laughing himself sick.

 _Back over in the morning to finish up and then I really should tackle my own spare rooms._ He ran a hand through his hair as he considered the idea. There were things in there he knew he’d never use again; best to get rid of them before they became havens for rabid dust bunnies.

 _Chicago Hard Rock has been asking for some things from us ever since we got back from hiatus_ , he thought as he stripped down to his boxer-briefs and a t-shirt. _A guitar maybe? And one of my Clandestine hoodies? Joe could probably be talked into giving up one of his and Andy maybe a pair of his drumsticks. And I know I can steal a hat from Patrick._ A smile crossed his face as he thought about his best friend. _I’ll call him tomorrow. See how he’s doing._ Elisa was just about five months pregnant with their first child, so the singer was alternating between being proud enough to explode and blind panic. To Pete, a panicking Patrick was something that needed to be calmed, soothed and petted as much as possible, even though it was adorable.

Pete was just about to climb into bed when the ringtone signaling a text from Patrick suddenly came over his phone. _Little late,_ he thought as he reached for it. _At least nowadays._ Patrick had been trying to keep more sensible hours instead of collapsing around 3 AM and waking up sometime around noon; after four months of it, he was still only partially successful.

Picking up his phone, he clicked on the little hat wearing glasses icon. His breath caught in his throat when he read what was there.

***At Chicago Hope. Elisa collapsed. Can you come?***

Throwing back on the clothes he had just taken off, Pete shoved his bare feet into the first pair of sneakers he could find and headed for the front door at a dead run. He managed to grab both his jacket and his keys on the way out, texting furiously as he headed for his car.

***On my way***

                                                                                                *****

One accident and two detours later, Pete pulled into the hospital parking lot cursing under his breath. The accident had turned a ten minute drive into over an hour and all the while all Pete could do was clutch at the steering wheel, his heart thudding hard in his chest as one nightmare scenario after another went through his head. _Please be okay,_ he prayed. _Please let this be something stupid we can laugh about later. He’s been so happy lately.  Please please please just let everything be okay._

Bursting through the Emergency Room doors, he practically crashed into the nurses’ station. “Stump,” he said when the nurse sitting there looked up. “He’s a redhead about my height. She’s pregnant. I got a text saying that they were bought here.” Pete’s fingers dug into the ledge. “He’s my brother.”

That seemed to settle it for her. Getting up from her chair, she leaned over the counter and looked down the hall. She pointed to a row of chairs right outside another set of double doors. “I think he’s down there.”

Pete turned, immediately recognizing the hunched over figure. No one else he knew had that color hair. “Thanks.” Turning away, he headed down the hall, the one thought of “please be okay” echoing in his head over and over.

He was dressed for a night out, Pete realized, distracted for a moment by how nice Patrick looked in a suit. No hat, which was also rare these days. It made Pete want to reach out and brush his fingers through the singer’s hair just to see if it was as soft as it looked. Pushing those thoughts aside, Pete stopped in front of his band mate, his best friend. “Patrick.”

Patrick’s head jerked up and Pete’s heart sank. One look at the other man’s pale face and red rimmed eyes told him the one thing he didn’t want to know. Patrick was not okay.

A moment later, Patrick was in his arms, a harsh, guttural sob escaping him as he buried his face in Pete’s shoulder. Blinking back tears of his own, Pete wrapped his arms around Patrick’s violently shaking frame and hugged him as hard as he could. _I’ve got you,_ he thought, hoping it would be enough and knowing it never could be. _I’ve got you. I won’t let go._

                                                                                                *****

Hearing a car pull into the driveway, Pete looked out the window and grinned. _Finally,_ he thought as he bounded out the door, his grin becoming even wider as the car stopped in front of him and Patrick got out. “Hey, Lunchbox.”

“Hey.” The singer stopped short, his hazel eyes wide. “Wow. I hate to tell you this, but your hair looks like an Easter egg.”

Pete ran a hand over his bright pink hair. “I had a little trouble in tinting class,” he said, finishing the quote. He took one look at Patrick’s drooping shoulders, saw the circles under his eyes only partially hidden by his glasses and immediately pulled him into a hug. “It’s good to see you.”

He didn’t miss how Patrick clung to him for a moment before letting go. “You, too,” he said. “Thanks for asking me over.”

“You’re always welcome.” Keeping an arm around Patrick’s shoulders, Pete began ushering him up the walk. “Come on in. I’ll make you some of that awful green tea you like.”

Patrick let himself be led through the living room and into the kitchen. “When did you get it done? “ he asked as he leaned against the counter.

“Last week when I got back from Chicago,” Pete said as he turned on the kettle and took two cups out of the overhead cupboard. “I was getting tired of the blond and I really didn’t want to go back to dark hair just yet.” He grinned. “I kinda threw the stylist for a loop when I told her I wanted such a bright pink.”

“I can imagine.” Patrick watched as Pete poured himself a cup of coffee. “I like it. It suits you. Were you planning on keeping it for the video?” The band was due to film “Uma Thurman” in the next few weeks.

“Thinking about it,” Pete said as he opened a drawer to look for spoons. “We’ll see how bad the upkeep is.”

Once the two men had their cups and had settled on the living room sofa, Pete put a hand on Patrick’s knee. “So how are you holding up?” he asked gently.

Patrick shrugged. “Good days and bad,” he said softly, managing a faint smile. “Today’s turning out okay so far.”

“Have you been sleeping at all?” Pete asked. He ran a hand under one of his own eyes for emphasis. “It’s just…you look worn out, that’s all.”

“Some. I’ve been camping out on the downstairs couch.” Patrick took a sip of his tea. “The bed…I haven’t been able to sleep in the bedroom since that night. I can barely go in there to get my clothes. The other day I was putting things away in there and caught a whiff of her perfume. It took me over an hour to calm down.” He put his cup down and clenched his shaking hands. “It’s just…I still can’t believe she’s gone.”

Pete put a hand over Patrick’s. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice just as soft. “The doctors…have they figured out what happened yet?”

Patrick shook his head. “The autopsy was inconclusive and tox reports won’t be back for at least another couple of weeks.” He sighed, his shoulders slumping. “It doesn’t matter anyway.”

Pete looked confused. “Doesn’t it? For closure, at least?” He squeezed Patrick’s fingers. “Might give you a little peace of mind?”

“Knowing’s not going to bring her back. And if it was something I did? Or something I could have prevented? I don’t think I could stand knowing that.” He paused. “As for peace of mind…I don’t think I’ll ever have that again. Not after this.”

 _God, I hate seeing you like this_ , Pete thought, his heart aching. “Can I do anything?” he asked. “I want to help if I can.”

Patrick shook his head. “You already have. If you hadn’t come to the hospital that night I would’ve lost it completely. And having you and the guys at the funeral kept me from being overwhelmed.” He offered Pete another wan smile. “You don’t know how much I appreciate that.”

“I’m just glad we were able to do something to make it easier for you.” _Because her family sure as hell didn’t,_ Pete remembered, thinking of the group of somber, frowning people radiating disapproval he had met that afternoon. He, Andy and Joe had spent the funeral service and wake running interference, making sure a shell-shocked Patrick dealt with them as little as possible. “Speaking of which, have you heard from her folks at all?”

Patrick shook his head again. “Not since the funeral.” He let out a heavy sigh. “Her sister came by a few days ago to get some of her personal things. She didn’t say five words to me the entire three hours she was there.” He picked up his cup and took a long sip of his tea. “They blame me for what happened. I know that much. Her mom lit into me after you guys left.”

Pete stared at him, momentarily stunned into silence. “What the fuck?” he finally exclaimed. “Seriously?”

Patrick nodded. “Seriously. Granted, she didn’t like me all that much before all this, but apparently any tolerance she had for me died with Elisa.” He shrugged. “And to be honest, I can’t really blame her.” At Pete’s incredulous look, Patrick said softly. “She lost her daughter, Pete.”

“And you lost your wife,” Pete countered. “And the baby.”

Patrick was silent for a long moment as he put his cup back down on the coffee table in front of him. “It would’ve been a boy,” he finally said. ‘That’s why we were out that night. We had just come from the doctor’s office and saw the sonogram.” Tears suddenly filled his eyes and he took off his glasses to swipe at them with his fingers. “I still have the pictures in my wallet.”

Pete pulled him into his arms, he heart breaking as the redhead began to sob. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, not knowing what else to say, what else to do. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

It took a few minutes for Patrick’s sobs to taper off into sniffles and ragged breathing, but when they did, he drew away enough to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand. “Sorry,” he muttered, ducking his head.

“Nothing to be sorry for, Lunchbox,” Pete said as he ran a hand up and down Patrick’s back, trying to comfort him in some small way. “Honestly? I’m surprised you’re doing as well as you are.”

Patrick snorted. “I feel like a basket case.” Before Pete could contradict him, however, he asked, “Can we…do you think we can talk about something else?”

“Sure,” Pete said quickly. “I’m sorry, Trick. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Patrick shook his head as he reached for the tissues. “You didn’t. The littlest things have been setting me off lately.” He dried his eyes and blew his nose before going on. “Some days it doesn’t even take that much.”

“Give yourself some time. It’s only been a few weeks,” Pete said before changing the subject. “So you’re coming back out here for a while?”

Patrick nodded. “Not sure for how long, but yeah. The Hollywood Hills house never sold, so I took it off the market and hired a cleaning crew to get rid of the cobwebs. I’ll move back in as soon as I buy some furniture. At least a bed.” At Pete’s confused look, Patrick explained further. “I’m just going to bring my personal stuff and my instruments. Everything else is going to stay with the condo.” He shrugged. “I just…I can’t even bear to look at some of it. Fresh start and everything. You know?”

Pete nodded in understanding. “I did the same thing after Ash left. Just threw everything into a storage locker and shut the door.” He paused. “I keep meaning to ask her if she wants any of it, but every time we talk I keep forgetting to.” He smiled a little. “Too busy trading Bronx stories.”

“Those are the best kind,” Patrick said, smiling as well. “How is he? Is he here?”

Pete shook his head. “He’s with Ash for the next couple weeks. She just finished a shoot, so she’ll be home for a bit.” He paused. “It’s a little weird, having an empty house. I don’t know what to do with myself half the time.”

Patrick nodded. “The condo feels like that. It gotten to the point where my mind blanks out and I find myself staring at the walls for two hours.” He sighed. “At least out here there won’t be any Elisa memories to deal with. She was never there. And packing and unpacking things will keep me occupied until we head back into the studio.”

“We could shuffle the schedule around,” Pete suggested as he tentatively put his hand back on Patrick’s knee. “Go in a little earlier maybe? I could ask Andy and Joe, see if it’s good with them. And I know the label would be happy. They’ve been pushing for studio time since the tour ended.”

“Before that,” Patrick corrected, wrinkling his nose, He thought for a moment, considering the idea. “No,” he said finally, shaking his head. “Andy’s doing that Cross Fit thing for the next few weeks and I know Joe was looking forward to spending time with Marie and Ruby.” He managed another wan smile. “And we don’t have anything even close to done enough to show anyone.”

Pete grimaced. “I don’t think we have anything started, actually,” he said. “I mean, I’ve got stuff written, but I don’t know how much sense it all makes. Been kinda all over the place the last couple days.” _Thinking about you and how you’re doing, how you’re coping with everything. God, I wish there was more I could do,_ he thought, biting his lip to keep the words from coming out just in time. _Anything. I’d do anything for you if it put a smile back on your face._

Patrick suddenly frowned. “Everything okay? Aside from you going stir crazy in an empty house, that is?” His voice was full of concern. “Bronx? He’s okay?”

“Everything’s fine, Trick. You don’t have to worry,” Pete said, patting his knee. “And Bronx is good. Getting into everything and anything, like always.”

Patrick held out his hand. “Let me see.” At Pete’s confused look, the singer wiggled his fingers. “Come on, Wentz. I know you have recent pictures of him. You always do.”

Pulling out his phone, Pete tapped on it before he handed it over. “Go ahead and scroll. There’s nothing questionable on there.” A rueful little grimace crossed his face as he remembered his sidekick and the dick pictures still floating around the internet. “Learned my lesson on that one.”

“We’ve all done stupid shit. I think you can stop beating yourself up about it.” He looked down at Pete’s phone and suddenly smiled. “God, look at him. He’s getting so big.”

Pete grinned. “Starts kindergarten this year. I don’t know where the time went. One minute I’m holding him in my arms and trying to sing him lullabies and the next he’s a little man.” He watched as Patrick scrolled through the pictures of Bronx playing with Hemmy in the background, his heart aching at the small, sad smile on his friend’s face. “He asked about you the other day.”

Patrick looked up. “He did?”

Pete nodded. “Wanted to know if his Uncle Patrick was still sad. I told him you were, that if might be a while before you were happy again because of everything that happened.” He offered Patrick a sympathetic smile. “He said that everyone should give you lots of hugs, because hugs always make him happy and they might make you happy, too.” Moving closer, he pressed himself against Patrick’s side before wrapping his arms around the singer’s frame. “So this is from Bronx. He made me promise to give you one if I saw you.”

Patrick closed his eyes, his hands sliding over Pete’s tattooed arms as he relaxed into the embrace. “Tell Bronx…tell him that he was right. That it does make me happy. And that the only thing better would’ve been if he had given it to me himself.” He let out a satisfied little sigh before opening his eyes and drawing away. “Thanks. And thank Bronx for me.”

Pete smiled as well. “I will,” he promised even as he wished he could do something more. “So…work or movie?”

Patrick thought for a moment. “How about work until dinner, then movie after?”

“Sounds good to me,” Pete said, nodding. “Need a guitar?”

Patrick shook his head as he got up. “My laptop is in the car. I should be okay with that.”

“I’ll go grab my guitar and a couple of notebooks, then.” They headed off in different directions.

                                                                                                *****

“You should stay,” Pete argued as Patrick slung his laptop bag over his shoulder. He glanced at the clock on the nearby wall and grimaced. “It’s almost midnight, for Christ sakes. It’s going to take you at least an hour to get to your hotel.”

“Not that long,” Patrick corrected. “No traffic. And I’m not sure what I brought with me.” At Pete’s confused look, he explained. “I wasn’t thinking too clearly when I was packing to come out here. I just…I kinda wanted to get away as fast as I could. You know?”

Pete immediately understood what Patrick was trying to say in his roundabout way. _Too many ghosts,_ he thought, his heart aching all over again. “I think I can manage a spare toothbrush and something for you to sleep in, especially since now we’re pretty close to the same size and all,” he countered, waving a hand back and forth between the two of them. “And I’ll even make you breakfast in the morning.”

Patrick looked at him skeptically. “Since when do you cook?”

“I can scramble an egg with the best of them. And I can just about manage a toaster, too,” Pete said, proudly. “Stay and you can watch me. You’ll be shocked and amazed.”

Smiling, Patrick shook his head. “Next time, okay? I just…” He stopped, letting out a ragged sigh. “I can’t right now. I’m sorry.”

Belatedly Pete recognized the signs of an overwhelmed Patrick and backed off. “Fuck, no. Don’t apologize,” he said as he pulled the other man into yet another hug. “I’m sorry, Pattycakes. I didn’t mean to push.”

Patrick clung for a long moment, his fingers digging into Pete’s broad shoulders. “You didn’t. I’m just a walking hot mess right now. You don’t need to be dealing with my drama.”

“I don’t mind. Really. I want to help,” Pete said again as he held the singer close. “Whatever you need. Okay?”

“Okay.” Drawing away, Patrick managed a smile. “Thanks.”

Pete stepped back, resisting the urge to run his fingers through Patrick’s bright hair. “Got everything?”

“Think so.” Patrick patted his jacket pockets for his cellphone and keys. “Oh…notebooks? You said you wanted me to go through a couple?”

“Oh, yeah. Be right back.” Pete headed upstairs.

Minutes later, he came back down with several in his hand. “Here,” he said as he handed them over. “Gotta warn you, though. Been kinda all over the place lately. God only knows if anything in them makes any kind of sense.”

Patrick slipped them into his laptop bag. “Hate to tell you this, but I’m kinda used to that,” he teased. “I’ll call you. Okay?”

“Yeah.” Pete couldn’t resist giving Patrick another quick hug. “Get some sleep, okay? You look like you need about a week’s worth.”

“I’ll try. You try, too. You forget I know how bad your insomnia is.” With that parting shot, Patrick headed out the door and climbed into his rental, waving as he drove off.

Pete watched him go, waving as well. _Definitely knows me too damn well_ , he mused as he went back in, shutting and locking the door behind him. He sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. _He’s better than he was, but that’s not saying a lot. At least he’ll be out here from now on. I’ll be able to keep a better eye on him, do more to help._ He headed back upstairs, turning off lights as he went. _That’s if he’ll let me._

Stripping down to his underwear, Pete climbed into bed and automatically reached for the orange notebook he usually kept in the bedside table drawer. It wasn’t there. _Hmm. Must’ve finished it last night,_ he mused as her went to the closet for another one. He didn’t remember putting it in the bookcase, but it had been almost full when he had finally stopped writing the night before, so it was possible. Getting back into bed, Pete picked up his pen, flipped it open to the first blank page and began to write.

                                                                                                *****

The next morning, Pete was nursing his second cup of coffee and trying to plan out his day when there was an insistent knock on his door. _Who in the hell could that be this early?_ He mused as he headed for the door _. Box for the mail, too far off the beaten path for anyone trying to sell something…maybe someone got lost? Although that’s pretty impossible in LA._ He opened the door, his eyes going wide when he saw who it was. “Hey, Trick. Isn’t it a little early for you?” He made a show out of checking his watch; it was almost 9 AM. “Usually you’re not moving until well past noon.”

Patrick didn’t rise to the bait. “We need to talk,” he said, a manic look in his eyes.

Pete stepped aside to let the singer in. “Okay, sure. Come on in.” A small frown crossed his face; Patrick was in the same clothes he had worn the day before, his hair going in all directions and with even darker shadows under his eyes. “Did you get any sleep last night?” he asked, even though he was pretty sure what the answer was going to be.

“No. I was reading the notebooks you gave me,” Patrick said. “Remember? You gave me three of them.”

“Of course I remember. It was just last night.” Pete ushered Patrick to the living room couch. “Here. Sit before you fall into something. I’ll make you some tea.” _Definitely decaf,_ he decided. The last thing Patrick needed was more caffeine. “What possessed you to stay up all night to read my ramblings anyway? Did it actually take you that long to make any sense out of them?”

“No, it didn’t. You were crystal clear.” He grabbed at Pete’s hands. “No, don’t. I don’t want tea. I want you to sit and talk to me.”

“Okay. It’s okay. I won’t go anywhere until we talk. I promise.” Pete sat down next to him, giving his clutching fingers a squeeze. “Just tell me why you’re so rattled. It’s because of something I wrote?”

“Everything. It was everything you wrote. At least it was everything in that one notebook.” Patrick’s hazel eyes went wide. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Now Pete was really confused. “Tell you what? You’re not making a hell of a lot of sense here, man.”

“The orange notebook. It was all about me,” Patrick finally clarified. “I didn’t know…you feel that way? About me?”

Pete’s heart lurched hard in his chest. “Fuck,” he muttered, suddenly remembering. His latest orange notebook had been under two others on his nightstand. He must have picked up all three without looking and just handed them over like an idiot. “You weren’t meant to see that,” he finally said, sighing.

“I kinda figured? I mean…you’ve never given me an orange one before this. Every other color, but not orange.” Patrick tightened his hold on Pete’s fingers. “All the other ones? Had stuff about everything in them. But not that one.” He swallowed hard. “Is that why? Because…because it was all about me?

Pete nodded. There was no sense in lying now. He just hoped that Patrick was still speaking to him when it was all over. “That’s why.”

Patrick stared at him, mouth agape. “How many?” When Pete hesitated, he continued on. “I know you. No way was that your first one. I could tell by what you wrote in it. And I remember how crazy you got that one time we were on tour and we couldn’t find any new ones.” He paused. “So how many?”

“384,” Pete answered after a moment. “Well…385. I started another one last night when I couldn’t find the one I gave you.” He didn’t flinch from his best friend’s wide-eyed gaze. “I started the first one the day after we met.”

“Oh, God,” Patrick breathed. “Fuck, Pete…why didn’t you tell me?”

Pete held up Patrick’s hand high enough so the singer’s wedding ring caught the morning light. It was a silent answer, but a clear one nevertheless.

Patrick immediately shook his head. “Don’t you dare give me that. I wasn’t always married. Don’t you fucking dare use that cop out on me.” His voice broke. “Why in the hell didn’t you tell me?”

“What would you have done?” Pete shot back. “If I had told you – seriously told you how I felt about you at any time back then? If I had made it crystal clear that it wasn’t a joke or playing up to the fans?” Pete answered the question for him a moment later. “You would’ve run. You would’ve run so fast and so far that I never would’ve seen you again. I would’ve lost you for real and I just…I couldn’t.” He shook his head and continued. “You were the only sane thing in my life back then. No way in hell was I gonna risk losing that.” He heaved a sigh. “And fuck me because I almost did anyway.”

“And after?” Patrick asked softly. “When the band got back together and we were speaking to each other again…why didn’t you say something then?”

“You were happy,” Pete said simply. “You were in love and happy and I wasn’t going to be the one to fuck that up.” Slowly, deliberately, Pete let Patrick’s hand go. “We were friends again. That was enough.”

“We were always friends,” Patrick corrected softly. “We never stopped being friends.” He sagged back against the couch cushions. “385?”

Pete nodded. “All my thoughts, all my hopes and dreams and fears. How much I loved you, how much I hated you sometimes, how much I wanted you practically all the time. Every feeling I’ve ever had about you is written in those notebooks.” He ran a hand through his hair, shrugging. “Just…everything.”

“God, Pete,” Patrick breathed, suddenly overwhelmed by the fact of it all. “You should have told me.”

“I couldn’t,’ the bassist said, shaking his head again. “I honestly couldn’t, not after everything. I was just too fucking afraid.”

Patrick gave him a look. “Honestly? I can’t picture you afraid of anything.”

Pete gave him a look of his own. “I’ve always been afraid of losing you,” he confessed. “From the very first day.”

The two men were silent for a long moment. Finally, Patrick asked, “So what happens now?”

“Well, I kinda see this going one of two ways,” Pete said, his heart falling to the pit of his stomach. “The first way being we both pretend this conversation never happened and we go on being best friends and…well…that’s it.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “Just…you know…total reset.”

Patrick stared at him. “And you’d really be okay with that? Even after telling me all this?”

Pete shrugged. “I’d have to be, wouldn’t I?” He’d try to be at the very least. For the good of the band and the sake of the music, he’d swallow down his feelings and at least try to forget.

Patrick frowned. “And the second?”

“The second is where you haul off and give me your best left hook to the jaw,” Pete said, sounding resigned and more than a little sad. “Followed by you not wanting anything more to do with me outside of the band.” He looked down at his hands. ”Which considering everything I’ve just thrown at you, I’d completely understand.”

Patrick stared at him, the look on his face one of sheer disbelief. That was how Pete saw this ending? Only those two ways after everything they had been through together? “What if I want what’s behind door number three?” Patrick asked softly.

Pete suddenly looked very confused. “Door number three?”

Slowly, Patrick slid his hand over Pete’s, twining their fingers together. Then, instead of answering, he leaned over and captured the other man’s lips in a gentle kiss.

Stunned, it took a moment for Pete to respond. But then he opened his mouth under Patrick’s, deepening the kiss as their tongues tangled together. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think, could barely remember to breathe. All he could do was sit next to Patrick on the sofa and lose himself in that one perfect kiss.

When Patrick finally drew away, Pete opened his eyes and blinked. “Patrick?” he finally breathed, not knowing what else to say.

Patrick said it for him. “You are my best friend and I love you and I don’t want to be alone right now,” he said, choking a little on the last few words. Patrick’s fingers clutched at Pete’s, his eyes full of pain, fear and love. “Is that enough?”

“Yes,” Pete said immediately, his own voice catching. “God, Patrick…yes.” He surged forward, arms reaching out to pull the other man into another, much hungrier kiss. His heart skipped a beat as Patrick’s arms slid around his neck and their bodies pressed together. So long. He had hoped and dreamed and waited for this for so long...

He carefully eased Patrick back against the sofa cushions, hovering over him as they traded kisses back and forth. “Beautiful,” Pete murmured as he nuzzled the singer’s ear, delighting in the squirming body underneath him. “So fucking gorgeous. Patrick…baby…tell me what you want?”

“You. Anything. Just don’t stop.” Patrick clutched at Pete’s shoulders. “Please, Pete…please. Just don’t stop.”

“Not stopping,” Pete promised even as he drew away enough to meet Patrick’s hazel eyes with his own dark ones. “Maybe just moving us to someplace a little more comfortable where we can spread out and not have to worry about falling on our ass?” He brushed his lips against Patrick’s. “Bed?”

“God, yes,” Patrick sat up, bringing Pete with him even as he pulled the bassist into yet another kiss. “Definitely. Bed.”

“Sure?” Pete found himself asking even as he drew Patrick to his feet and began leading him toward the stairs. “I mean…we don’t have to do anything. I can just hold you if that’s all you want.”

“It’s not.” Patrick suddenly smiled. “I mean, I want you to hold me…but I want other stuff, too.” He paused. “Is that okay?”

“Definitely okay,” Pete said as they made their way up the stairs and down the short hallway to Pete’s bedroom. “I could not be any more okay with this. But I want you to be, too.”

“I am,” Patrick said as they went in and he shut the door behind him. At Pete’s skeptical look, the singer let out a little laugh and pulled him close. “No, really. I am. Definitely. Elsa and I…we talked about this. About you.”

Pete’s dark eyes went wide. “What?”

“We talked about you,” Patrick said again, still smiling. “You weren’t the only one hiding feelings. I was, too. For years. It took Elisa pointing it out to me for me to realize it. To admit it.” His smile softened, turning tender. “I was an idiot.”

“Not an idiot,” Pete automatically corrected. “Young. We both were.” There was a pause. “Really? I mean…you really?”

“Really,” Patrick confirmed with a nod. “All those times you flirted with me…you don’t know how much I just wanted to push you up against the nearest flat surface and kiss you hard enough to shut you up.”

A wave of arousal crashed over Pete. “You did?” Patrick nodded again. “Jesus fuck, Trick. Why didn’t you say something?”

“I never thought you were serious,” Patrick said with a shrug. “And later…you had Ashlee and Bronx. I thought you had settled down. You know?” He paused. “I just figured…well…I figured that I had missed out and that my feelings were all that was gonna come of it.” Their eyes met. “That friends was all we were going to be.”

“Patrick,” Pete breathed, reaching out to brush his fingers over the singer’s cheek. His heart skipped a beat when Patrick leaned into the touch. “Elisa…she told you something different?”

Smiling still, Patrick nodded. “Insisted on it, really. She’d mention the look on your face whenever she caught you watching me.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “How did she put it? Deep, smothered longing I think it was.”

Pete ducked his head to hide his darkening cheeks. “It kinda was,” he finally said. “And for a lot of the same reasons. I didn’t want to fuck up what we already had. Not just with each other, but with the band, too.” He let out a sigh. “Like I said, I came too close to losing everything.”

“We both did,” Patrick said softly. He leaned forward enough to rest his forehead against Pete’s. “Too fucking close.”

They stood like that for several moments, just breathing together in each other’s arms. Finally, Patrick murmured/ “You know, Elisa…she would’ve been okay with this. If you had said something before, I mean.”

Pete drew away enough to stare at him. “She…what? Really?”

Patrick nodded. “Really. Apparently she thought the idea was hot.” There was a pause. “Even made me promise to tell her all about it in case anything did happen.”

“God, Patrick,” Pete breathed, stunned. “You gotta know…I wouldn’t have. I never would’ve…I mean…if I did something to make her think I would…”

“Shh.” Patrick silenced him with a kiss. “I know you wouldn’t have. She did, too. And she knew I wasn’t going to do anything about it since I was with her. She just…liked the idea of it.” He shrugged. “God knows why.”

“Gotta tell you, babe…I always thought the idea was hot, too,” Pete confessed with a smile. He nuzzled Patrick’s ear again, making the singer gasp in response. “I’d dream about you, about what it would be like to touch you, make love to you. How you would sound. How you would feel.” He licked his lips. “How you would taste.”

Patrick’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Really.” Pete’s hands slid down Patrick’s back to land on his ass. “Can I take some of this off and show you?”

“Only if I can do the same to you,” Patrick said with a smile of his own. “I’m not going to be the only one naked here.”

“Absolutely. Whatever you want.” Pete let go of Patrick long enough to take off his t-shirt and toss it to the floor, grinning all the while. “Can’t wait to see you.”

Patrick’s cheeks turned bright red as he ducked his head. “Don’t know why,” he muttered. “I’m not like you. Never have been.”

“Hey. None of that,” Pete chided gently. Tilting Patrick’s face back up, he gave the singer a gentle kiss. “You’re fucking gorgeous, Trick. I always thought you were.”

Patrick looked at him skeptically. “Sure you don’t need to borrow my glasses?”

“My eyesight is perfect and so are you,” Pete answered, kissing him again. “A hundred, a thousand percent perfect.” He slowly slid his hands up enough to grasp at the hem of Patrick’s shirt. “Can I show you?”

After a moment, Patrick nodded, letting Pete pull his shirt over his head. “It’s really okay?”

“Beautiful. Not just okay,” Pete corrected as he tossed Patrick’s shirt onto the floor next to his. “So fucking beautiful. God, I just want to kiss you all over.”

“Not planning on stopping you,” Patrick said as he sat down on the edge of the bed. Kicking off his shoes and socks, he pushed them aside with his foot. “Something like that would be easier to do lying down, though.”

“And with your pants off,” Pete added, his hands pausing over Patrick’s zipper. “Can I?”

Patrick nodded as he reached for the waistband to Pete’s sweatpants. “Yours, too.”

Soon they were both naked and lying in each other’s arms, trading hungry kisses back and forth. “God, I love your hands,” Patrick murmured as Pete’s fingertips brushed over his nipples.

“Feel good, baby?” Pete asked, grinning when Patrick nodded in response. “I know what would feel even better.” Without waiting for a response, Pete ducked his head down and flicked his tongue over one erect little bud.

Patrick groaned in response, his fingers tangling in Pete’s hair. “Fuck,” he gasped, his eyes wide. “You keep doing that and this is gonna be over with pretty damn quick.”

“I’d be okay with that,” Pete said as he kissed his way toward Patrick’s other nipple. “Then we can start all over again.” He paused, looking up. “Unless you want me to stop?”

Patrick shook his head. “Didn’t say that,” he said, brushing his fingers over Pete’s cheek. “Just don’t want to rush things, that’s all. I want to take my time with you.”

Pete brushed his lips against Patrick’s caressing fingers. “Is that the only reason?” he asked, his voice quiet. “Your fingers…I can feel them shaking.”

Patrick suddenly blushed. “No, not the only reason,” he admitted after a moment. “Just…just a little nervous, that’s all.”

Pete was about to ask why when he realized. “You’ve never done anything like this, have you? Been with another guy?”

Patrick shook his head. “Never wanted to. It’s always been just you whenever I thought about something like this.”  There was a pause. “As for not doing anything like this? Well…that’s not exactly true.”

Pete’s dark eyes went wide. “Well, that wasn’t the answer I was expecting.” When Patrick remained silent, he continued. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“No, it’s not that. I’m just trying to find the words.”  After another moment, Patrick went on.  “It was Elisa’s idea. She thought…you know how I said that she thought the idea of the two of us together was hot?” When Pete nodded he continued. “Well…she thought that on the off chance you ever did make a move and we actually did something about it, she thought that it should be good, you know? That maybe I should know about what the hell to do, so it would be good for both of us.” At Pete’s confused look, Patrick ducked his head to hide his red cheeks. “Strap on.”

Pete couldn’t help the gasp that escaped him. “You kinky bastard,” he said, his voice brimming with admiration. “Did you like it?”

“It took a little getting used to,” Patrick answered, smiling a little. “And sucking on it always made me feel like an idiot. But once I did get used to her doing that…”

“Pegging,” Pete supplied. At Patrick’s surprised look, he explained. “Ash used to…she had a bright red one she used to use on me every once in a while.” A shiver suddenly went through him. “It used to turn me inside out.”

Patrick nodded in understanding. “Yeah. I used to have to bury my face in a pillow to keep from scaring the neighbors.”

There was yet another pause. “She really would’ve been okay with this.” There was a note of surprise in Pete’s voice.

“Yeah. I think because…she said once that she was already sharing me with you anyway. That she had been the one coming between you and me.” Patrick let out a sigh. “I tried to tell her it wasn’t like that between us, had never been that way. I’m still not sure she ever really believed me.”

“I never meant it to be like that,” Pete said quietly as guilt washed over him.

“I know you didn’t. She did, too. Maybe that was why she was okay with it and never asked me to choose.” Patrick paused. “She knew you never would, either.”

Of course not,” Pete immediately said. “She made you happy. That’s all I ever wanted for you, just to be happy.” He paused. “Before the hiatus…no matter how much I wanted you back then…I knew I couldn’t give you that. I was too fucked up back then.”

“And I wouldn’t have known what to do even if you had offered,” Patrick added, smiling a little. He slid his arms around Pete’s neck. “I think I have an idea or two now, though.”

“Are you sure?” Pete asked, brushing a finger over Patrick’s cheek. “I mean…it’s okay if you’re not. We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want.”

“The thing is, I really do think I want,” Patrick’s voice was soft as well. “I mean…if you still do?”

Pete let out the breath he was still holding and drew the singer into his arms. “More than anything,” he said before giving Patrick another tongue-tangling kiss.

Grasping Pete’s shoulders, Patrick pulled until the bassist was sprawled on top of him. “Please,” he begged, grinding his erection against Pete’s muscled thigh. “Please, Pete…don’t stop.”

“I won’t. I promise,” Pete said in between kisses. “Just tell me what you want, baby? I’ll do anything.”

“Anything.” Patrick’s fingers dug into Pete’s tattooed arms. “Just…please…”

“Shh, sweetheart. I’ve got you,” Pete began trailing kisses down the singer’s chest. “It’s all right. I’ll take care of you, I promise.” He moved still lower, nuzzling his belly. “Love you…love you so much, baby.”

“Love you.” Patrick threw his head back against the pillows, a loud cry escaping him as Pete slid his mouth over his cock. “God…Pete!”

 _Got you, sweetheart_ , Pete thought as he sucked, letting his tongue roll over the flared head to catch the steady stream of fluid leaking out. _So good…you taste so fucking good…love doing you like this._ He let out a moan of his own as he took Patrick deeper down his throat. _You’re so perfect like this…my Patrick…_

A sharp tug on his hair caused him to draw away and look up. “Patrick? You okay up there?”

“Yeah. Just…too close,” the singer managed to get out. Grasping Pete’s hand, he pulled until the bassist was back in his arms. “First time together…it should be both of us. Not just me.”

“Never just you, but I get what you mean.” Pressing their bodies together, he reached between them and grasped both of their erections in one hand. He slowly began to stroke. “Like this?”

Patrick immediately wrapped his hand around Pete’s. “Yes. God, Pete…yes…”

“Patrick,” Pete moaned, resting his forehead against the singer’s as he watched their hands move together in perfect time. “Perfect…God, you’re so fucking perfect.”

“So are you,” Patrick managed to get out. “Can’t wait to really feel you in me…I bet you're so much better than a plastic dick.”

Pete let out a shaky laugh. “I sure as fucking well hope so.” His moans grew louder as their hands moved faster, pushing them both toward release. “Like that. Just like that. Fuck...Patrick...” A sudden twist of the wrist and he was coming, spilling himself all over Patrick’s hand as a hoarse cry escaped his lips. He was still shaking when Patrick followed him a moment later, his face buried in Pete’s broad shoulder.

They held each other close after, calming one another with whispered words and gentle touches. When Pete managed to catch his breath, he drew Patrick’s hand to his lips and began licking his come-slick fingers clean. “Mmm…sweet.”

“God, Pete,” Patrick breathed, his eyes bright as he watched. He pulled Pete into a hard kiss. “You’re amazing.”

“You’re pretty amazing yourself, Lunchbox,” Pete said, grinning. “And delicious, too. Can’t wait to get another taste.”

“You might have to. A little while, at least.” Patrick yawned suddenly, snuggling closer. “Tired.”

“Of course you’re tired. How much sleep did you get last night?” Pete asked as he pulled the comforter over them both. “An hour? Two?”

“Not even that,” Patrick said, yawning again. There was a pause. “Is it okay if I stay?”

“Of course it is,” Pete said gently as he planted a kiss in Patrick’s hair. “For as long as you want.”

Another pause, this one longer than the first. “That could be a while.”

Pete’s heart ached as he pressed another kiss against Patrick’s temple. “I hope so,” he said softly. “Go to sleep, baby. I’ll be here.”

“Okay.” Patrick’s eyes began drifting shut. “One more thing? Why orange?”

“For the notebooks?” Pete asked, waiting for Patrick’s nod before answering. “It’s your favorite color.”

A sleepy little smile crossed Patrick’s face as his eyes closed. “Love you,” he murmured, finally relaxing into sleep.

“Love you,” Pete whispered, letting the other man’s weight settle against his side. When he was sure Patrick was sound asleep, he reached into the bedside table drawer and pulled out his latest orange notebook and a pen. Smiling down at Patrick for a long moment, Pete then turned to the first blank page and began to write.

 


End file.
